


The Last Goodbye

by littlewerewolftori13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, I'm Sorry, John Commits Suicide, M/M, Really don't know where this came from, Sad Sherlock, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewerewolftori13/pseuds/littlewerewolftori13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has waited three years for Sherlock to return, and he has and always will believe in Sherlock, but he's just so tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Goodbye

"So..." John paused and took a deep breath. 

"So, if this is it, then... Well, it's what people do isn't it?" He asked, his mouth turning up a bit in a bitter grin that disappeared in a shudder of pain and a sharp inhale.

"They leave a note?" He pressed a piece of paper firmly onto the ground in front of the headstone. He looked up and let his eyes trace the letters carved into marble. Sherlock Holmes. Simple, clear. Black marble. All very Sherlock. He pursed his lips as his vision blurred. He forced himself to breath again.

Glancing back, he saw Mrs. Hudson watching him nervously from the safety of the cab they took to get there. He shifted till he was more comfortable on the hard ground, and nodded at her. As he watched her nod back and get into the cab, he reached into his pocket with the hand hidden from her surely piercing stare. The cab pulled away as he touched cool plastic.

"It's been three years Sherlock. And I waited for you, I really did. But. I still believe in you. Since the moment you thought me worthy enough to bring into your life, I've believed in you. But it's just... I'm tired Sherlock. So tired. Sometimes I think, when I wake up from nightmares, that I can hear you still, playing your violin like you would. It's not. I know it's not, and you'd probably say it's some stupid sentimental reaction, but it's not, it's not!"

John pushed himself to his knees, so he could properly pull the bottle out of his pocket.

"It's not sentiment. Because to you sentiment was illogical and idiotic and dull, and this, what I feel, it's the farthest thing from that!"

He unscrewed the lid, looking down into the pill bottle, watching the single capsule roll about as he turned the bottle this way and that.

"This, what I feel, is the most logical thing in the world, because when I'm with you. When I'm with you, I am better. And you are better. You said it yourself, I help you shine brighter. Well, you didn't quite say it like that, but you've always said I was a romantic."

John concentrated on the red and white colors of the capsule, remembering the first time he saw it, during his and Sherlock's first case together. He remembered the terror that had seized his heart when he realized Sherlock was actually going to take the pill. He remembered how easy it had been to kill that cabbie.

"And it's not idiotic, because if it had been, you would've been able to pick it up immediately. You would've seen it and shouted it in my face, and to the world, telling everyone you could of the folly of John Watson. How it was only human error. But you never saw it, no you did not. You didn't have a clue."

He slowly tipped the bottle so the capsule rolled into his palm. It felt slightly sticky, even while dry, but the familiar feel of a pill in his hands was nothing new. The use of the pill was new maybe, but he was a doctor.

"And it's not dull. Oh, it was the farthest thing from dull. You were the only thing that kept me sane after coming back from the war. The times we had! The cases! The chases! I've never felt so alive and so very awake. Alert. Present. As I was with you. So. So it was the absolute farthest from dull."

He closed his fingers around the pill. 

"I think you would be bored with this." John whispered. 

"Goodbye Sherlock."

The pill touched his lips first, then pushed past slowly. He let it sit on his tongue for a moment, then swallowed it down. 

"I-..." His words stuttered through his suddenly dry mouth.

"I lo-." John grimaced at a twist of pain in his stomach, grunting slightly as he leaned forward, moving to lay curled on his side as his breath whistled unevenly in his chest.

"Love you." The end of his words trailed into a moan of pain, but John felt satisfied. He had said what he needed to say. Now he could finally join Sherlock. 

Suddenly he was rolled over. There was a lot of noise and movement. There were hands pressing on his chest, over his face, peeling back his eyelids momentarily, but just enough for him to catch a glance of...

Pale skin dark hair clear blue green hazel grey eyes. Pale pink lips. High sweeping cheekbones. 

"Sherl..." He smiled softly.

"Here." The word was barely a puff of air. Sherlock was here. But he didn't seem happy. His cheeks were flushing pink and his mouth continued to work as if he were talking. John wished he could hear his voice, but realized that soon he would hear that incredible baritone clearly again. 

John's smile faded a bit as he watched what looked like tears gather in Sherlock's eyes. That wasn't right. Sherlock didn't do that. The emotion thing. He was always aloof and cold. Unapproachable. 

Except, John thought and allowed his smile to grow again as his vision grew a bit dim and grey at the edges. Except when Sherlock was alone with John and he subconsciously revealed that he felt safe around John. 

John was jostled from his thoughts as Sherlock pulled him up. Up into his arms, like he was hugging John. It was very nice, very warm, and John shuddered at how cold his own body suddenly felt. He felt so happy cradled to Sherlock's chest. So very happy. 

It was his last thought.


End file.
